My Life, and Welcome to it

…

It began yesterday. It was the first sunny day I have seen in awhile and I resolved to manicure the landscape while I could still see over it. The idea seemed simple enough.

First, I planned to trim the verge in the lower forty, down by the creek. Unfortunately, a large limb covered most of it, so I retrieved the trusty chainsaw from the tool bin. It was out of fuel.

“No problem,” I thought. I fetched the 2-cycle fuel can. “Hmm. It’s empty, too.” I muttered. In a few minutes, I located the keys to my truck and headed for the gas station. Fifteen minutes later, I arrived home and filled the chainsaw’s tank. Pull as I might, it would not start. A little poking and prodding later, I discovered the chain was jammed.

“It probably got stuck on a shred of my blue jeans, “ I thought.

I found some antique hand tools and disassembled the saw. I cleaned the clutch of packed sawdust and readjusted the tension on the chain. Once reassembled, it started immediately.

“No problem,” I repeated.

I stripped the limb of all the small twigs and branches. The remainder was 100% firewood. That meant I would need to haul the cut pieces to the wood rack for storage. Who knows, it might snow again in the next decade. Then again, it might not.

I fetched my recently returned wheelbarrow, Starship Enterprise, to help haul the wood. Not so fast. The tire was flat.

“No problem,” I said through my teeth.

I got back into the truck and drove to the hardware store to buy a patch kit. Forty minutes later, I unbolted the wheel from the barrow and pried the tire from the wheel with a crowbar. I found the leak in the tube and glued a patch over it.

By now, it was after lunchtime. I returned to the house, cleaned up and enjoyed a gourmet frozen dinner. Mmm, mmm. That strapping 200-calorie lunch really hit the spot. I am still surprised I had strength enough to walk away from the table, but I managed.

Last week I ordered a video camera for my motorcycle. As I savored my lunch, the telephone rang. It was Jim, the local dealer, telling me I could come get the camera. I jumped into the truck and headed for Waxahachie to score some high-tech toy for my travelogues. These trips take time as Jim and I are both inclined to regale one another with stories of derring-do when we meet. When I returned home, I whipped-up another 200-calorie wonder meal and collapsed for the evening.

The lawn could wait one more day.

This morning, I returned to the simple and satisfying task of lawn maintenance. I checked the inner tube for leaks. It seemed sound. Next, I reassembled the wheelbarrow. When I finished, it looked pretty normal and wheelbarrowish.

“Good job, Hank.”

Finally, I loaded the refurbished chainsaw into the repaired wheelbarrow and set off for the jungle. When I arrived, everything was perfect, at least for the first ten seconds. I parked the wheelbarrow and started the chainsaw. Whiiiinnne went the saw. BUZZZZ went the chain. We seemed to be making a lot of noise, but no wood chips were flying. Soon, the wood I was cutting began to smoke. I stopped the saw and carefully ran a finger along the blade teeth. Nada. It was as dull as a butter knife.

"Probably got dulled when it chewed into my kneecap."

“No [bleeping] problem,” I spat.

I stalked back to the shed and put the saw on the shelf. Then, I selected the “good” chainsaw that sat right next to it. Five minutes later, wood chips filled the air and I was on my way to a yard worthy of House Beautiful.

I hauled and stacked the wood. Then, I trimmed the rough spots with the weed-eater. The edger made short work of the margins of the lawn and the mower chewed through the weeds of my formerly lush lawn as if they were in the fairway at Augusta. Ten minutes with a leaf blower removed the last traces of debris. It was a struggle, but it was almost worth it. The place looks much better.

As a final step, I climbed into my truck one last time to return it to its rightful place at the end of the drive. I crawled in and slammed the door. As the engine started, I happened to glance upward toward the sun visor. That is when I saw it. It was the biggest, blue butterfly ever seen, at least in my truck. I was too tired to startle much, so I thought of grabbing a camera. I slipped out quietly and dashed indoors. When I returned, the butterfly was right where I left him. I took a dozen photos. A few were okay.

I backed the truck into place and killed the engine. I ran the windows down so my butterfly passenger could find his [or her] way when he tired of being indoors. Then, I came in here to write about it.

That is enough for me.